— We aren’t thieves! I’m a hard-working man! Don’t you dare embarrass me like that! — he had screamed.
It was a bitter memory. That man had never once praised her for her straight A’s or her awards in literature. He wasn’t “proud” then. But the moment a hungry child made a mistake, he was suddenly concerned with the family’s “honor.”
Her mother had tried to protect her, but she usually ended up catching the blows instead. Vera’s clothes were beyond poor—they were ragged. She wore the same faded turtleneck year-round. Her classmates never missed a chance to mock her worn-out coat or her shoes that were literally falling apart. They threw gum in her hair, put chalk on her chair, and taped “Scarecrow” signs to her back. They were incredibly cruel to a girl who was clearly struggling.
Books became her escape. Vera buried herself in her studies and spent her evenings at the library where her mother worked. She read about worlds where people were kind, where there was plenty to eat, and where life wasn’t confined to a dark apartment and aggressive teenagers.
After graduation, she vanished. None of her classmates cared where she went. Vera worked her way through college, focusing on the business side of the food industry. She was subconsciously drawn to a world of abundance—a world where she would never be hungry again. The trauma of that stolen bagel had left a permanent mark.
One day, during her sophomore year (her father had been gone for a year by then, and the house was finally peaceful), she found her mother looking unusually bright.
— Vera, you won’t believe who called!
— Who?
— John Miller. That nice boy from the doctor’s family. He said he’s in med school now.
— Why is he calling us?
